This recalled Jeff to himself, and the rest of the journey was made with comparative comfort to the old man’s bones. They were on their way to the Queen Anne cottage which had been built near the site of the old ruin and between it and the road. It was a very pretty and artistic affair, with bay windows and projections and wide halls and piazza, where Roy said ’Tina could sit and rest if she wanted to, when she made her nocturnal visits. The cellar was filled up and made into a terrace, or plateau, which was ablaze with flowers from June to September. A part of the orchard had been cut down and with the lane converted into a small park of green sward, flowering shrubs and shade trees. Here Roy and Fanny spent a part of every summer and were often joined by Craig and Alice, and occasionally by Helen, whose beauty was not greatly marred by the lapse of years and who was sometimes told that she looked nearly as young as her daughter. She was a grandmother now and two children played on the grass and picked flowers from the spot where ’Tina once had lived and loved and sinned. They were a sturdy boy of five years old and a little girl of three. The only real disagreement Fanny and Roy ever had was on the subject of the boy’s name. Fanny wished to call him Mark Hilton, while Helen favored the idea. Roy could not tell Fanny that his son must not be named for one who he believed had been a highwayman, but he objected to the name and held his ground against Fanny’s entreaties and the advice of Craig and Alice. “Perhaps as you won’t call him for my father you’d like to call him for yours,” Fanny said, with as much spirit as she ever opposed to Roy. “No,” he answered, “not for my father either, but I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll call him for your adopted father, Walter Prescott. How will that suit you?” “Not as well as Mark Hilton,” Fanny replied, but she gave up the point and the boy was christened Walter Prescott. When two years later a girl was born there was no question as to her name from the moment Roy said to Fanny, “Would you like to see our little daughter _Inez_?” They were bright, active children and Jeff was their slave. They were never happier than when with him, and always hailed with delight the sight of the wheel chair coming down the road, for that meant a ride after Uncle Zach was safely deposited upon the piazza with their father and mother. On the morning when Jeff came near upsetting the chair in his defense of Mark they were on the lookout for him. They had come from Boston the night before and were watching eagerly for their _horse_, as they called him, while Nero was a _colt_. Craig and Alice were there and with Roy and Fanny were enjoying the freshness and fragrance of the June morning. “There they come; there’s Jeff and Nero,” Walter cried, running to meet him, and “Dere’s Deff and Nero,” Inez repeated, toddling after her brother.